


Biological Imperatives

by WindwiseWords



Series: Clone Culture [9]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Alien Sex, Anal Sex, Fingering, Improper Use of G.A.R Machinery, Let Me have My Biology, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oviposition, Sex Toys, Some Plot, kind of, not a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 11:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14236509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindwiseWords/pseuds/WindwiseWords
Summary: Plo is missing again. Wolffe climbs through the vents to his room, and finds him in a less than decent position.





	Biological Imperatives

**Author's Note:**

> More Plo/Wolffe smut because screw everyone else that says I can't. Nah I'm kidding, I just wanted to see Plo be the kind-of bottom. I'll make a drawing of anatomy later when I find my ability to draw, internal shot for shits and giggles. Enjoy!

Plo couldn’t think straight. Unlike any other biological cycle since his late-maturing years, this last one left in a key piece of anatomy that most left out.

Straight forward, his reproductive cycles were: find a host, lay his eggs, make sure the eggs were infertile when lain again. But he found out quickly after this one, not a week later, he wasn’t sated with just that. It started with a pang of longing when he noted a pair of bridge officers flirting a little openly, just catching what one promised the other. He left his men alone, figuring the left-over hormones cycling in his system caused the response.

Now he lay hot, bothered, and with a crude note in his native script scrawled on the door warning his clones to stay away. He estimated Wolffe would give him only eight hours before soldering through the metal of the triple-locked, airtight seal of his quarters, and programed it to open for him and him alone. No Jedi Master, not even his dear friend Kit Fisto, only the Commander.

The anatomy in question favored his egg pouch, somewhat different in the egg bladder in that it had an external port. One could compare it to a seahorse, in that the eggs had to be externally lain inside. When Kel Dor hosted for one another, they used this anatomy, which cut out the step of relaying if the eggs were fertile. It sat somewhat toward the top of his slit, and in his sorry state of arousal, the small round opening oozed a similar lubricant to his shafts, which were also engorged and all but still. His body pillow was a mess of the stuff even through the towel he lay down to guard it against staining, and all his half-conscious rutting met not relief in return.

Right on time, Wolffe began his break in, surprisingly leaving the door alone and heading in through the vents. Ahsoka had led him on a full chase around for his eyepatch, the playful Padawan teaching Wolffe to have a bit of fun while also teaching him the layout of the vents. Plo heard his breath and soft curses, and even through his mask he could smell **Wolffe.** Any other time just a pleasant reminder of safety and friendship, now a driving force for arousal.

So willingly he took Plo’s eggs. But he had nothing to give Plo now. Despite that he weakly called for his Commander, and the movements became much more insistent.

“Sir! O-Oh, sir?” Wolffe paused, seeing his general stark nude and wrapped around his pillow. And… “Out” as he thought of it. Wolffe glanced away but approached. “Sir… I thought you said these cycles only come every few months?” He still bore a slight off step in his walk from holding the eggs, Plo noticed, but Wolffe pushed on.

“Wolffe…” He pleaded, breathy and tired. Plo needed relief, and Wolffe so close teased his instincts. He rolled to his back and puffed out a heavy sigh. Wolffe heaved one of his own and came over to sit on the edge of the bed, removing his bucket covered in vent lint. Plo had to find words. “It’s secondary, to the cycle… Oh Spirits…” Plo’s rolling to better face Wolffe squished a shaft hard against the mattress, like Plo squishing him with his ass…

Wolffe ignored the reaction apart from a blush and shuffling off his armor came to drag Plo onto his chest, holding him tight. Sweat, musk of a strong man, regulation shower soap, and the metallic tinge of the medicine he placed around his missing eye’s socket to prevent infections.

“Got to give me more than that, sir, or I have to call Sinker.” Plo startled and gripped onto him tight, claws hooking against greys. Wolffe didn’t wince.

“Secondary, looking for eggs… It burns, Wolffe. I burn.”

“I can feel that sir.” Wolffe knew his general to be a variety of temperatures based on what he was doing, but at the moment he was hotter than the deserts he’d seen. “Looking for eggs, sir? I already h-hosted those.” A hesitation, a blush. “I can do it again, sir… But you disposed of them medically. Infertile, remember?”

Plo groaned and nodded, each of his eggs checked carefully with his tusks for signs of life. Sinker even candled them with a powerful light: nothing. Wolffe comforted him through that, despite Plo insisting it was normal. Wolffe insisted it was still ‘painful’ and he wondered if it were painful for Wolffe or himself…

“H-Hosting eggs is secondary to a cycle… My body is looking for them.” Plo sat up more against his commander, wincing as he felt cool, hard armor against his anatomy. Wolffe didn’t try to prevent the copious amounts of lubricants from sticking to himself, though his face was very red.

“How can I help, sir?” Wolffe said softly, and Plo hid his mask against a strong pectoral muscle. He lost himself in the strength and the need… So powerful was this man that held him so firmly… Those strong arms squeezed him hard, not enough to hurt but to jar him. He felt trapped, instinct kicking in. “General, tell me what to do. Now. That’s an order, sir.”

Rarely would Wolffe order him unless it was a matter of health. “Spirits…” He moaned, only to have the arms tighten. “N-Need something for my pouch, commander! Please let go.” Wolffe instantly released him other than the light hug. Wolffe seemed conflicted, uncertain what to do with that statement.

“I see. I think I get… I mean, sir, unless you have a toy for this, we may have to get something machined.” Which wouldn’t be hard. Boost had used the machine shop on board, used to sculpt new armor pieces, for less legal uses before. Troopers away from their riduur needed something or long, thick objects started to go missing.

“Toy…” Plo felt embarrassed now. All his life he’d never considered something so, so… Crass. A civilized Kel Dor would never! And yet it was drawing him because Wolffe offered.

Wolffe tucked Plo’s head under his chin, watching the red color-striping of embarrassment spread all the way down his body. “It’s your only option sir. Clones do not exactly lay eggs for you. I’m not even sure what you mean by pouch, Sinker never—Sir!” Wolffe exclaimed as the Kel Dor parted the genital slit, and through the lubricant and healthy pink of shafts, a hole lay open and secreting the same stuff though a bit more viscous. Wolffe couldn’t look away. Kel Dor genitalia continued to surprise him, and he resisted the urge to touch. Plo did as well, another uncivilized thing that was only done during foreplay, and the formative years of maturity.

It was not a ‘female’ thing, not a slit with that little nub and many folds of flesh. It was a simple circle, slightly elongated to suggest it opened further about the size of a female humanoid’s opening. As far as he remembered. The idea that Plo could fit his own eggs in there seemed rather implausible if it didn’t stretch, of course if his rear could fit them…

Wolffe cut that rabbit hole of a memory off before his cock stiffened under a codpiece. That was never pleasant.

“So, we’ll machine you some eggs. Sinker took a scan for research, it’ll take Boost no time at all. He doesn’t need to know it’s for you. Hell, they’ll probably think it’s for me at this point…” He blushed and trailed off, realizing he admitted to enjoying the process. Plo perked up, and he felt burning eyes on himself.

“You liked hosting, Commander?”

“Yes sir.” A simple and easy knee-jerk answer.

A soft pause. “I am glad.”

“Yes sir. I am too.”

To outsiders the exchanged seemed tight and uncomfortable, but there were no outsiders. Just the two that understood the gravity of the words.

“Please have Boost start. I am not certain I’ll be coherent much longer. If I go searching the ship for hosts, there will be problems.” A sharp clicking followed. Anger. “I’m no youngling learning how to control this!”

“You also just came out of what I took to be years of none of it. Your body probably thinks you’re in the hell that you described Kel Dor puberty as… Sir, you’re leaking into my knee joint.” Not to embarrass Plo, but Wolffe did have to get up and leave at some point. Plo latched on tighter, pressing close at that realization.

“C-Commander, please don’t go.”

“I have to get you those eggs made up… How many should I—Sir?”

He found Plo tugging his sleeve. He could feel those eyes, see blown-wide rings of silver at this angle; pleading, Plo was pleading for him to help. It felt so wrong, but he’d been hot and bothered and left to suffer before.

“Many, as many as my usual stock will allow. I can go without replacement armor for a while. I have spares already.” Plo tugged again, claws prickling along tan skin through the greys. “I need something, Wolffe, or I am going to melt.”

Wolffe’s expression grew understanding and he nodded, though he had not one clue where to being with anything but his own cock and an asshole. This was different on many levels, and so when he unclothed an arm up to his elbow—that lubricant was no joke—he let Plo guide him where he wanted him. The wet warmth of Plo’s shafts was familiar, though they were so swollen Wolffe’s concern skyrocketed.

“I’ve climaxed several times but will not truly finish until sated.” He paused. “That will take ti-I-I—” He trailed off in gasps as Wolffe stroked the too-full shafts.

“Dry coming is no fun sir, but later it’ll make it really good.” Wolffe said softly, eyes narrowed as he focused on wringing the pleasure from those shafts that Plo needed. He wasn’t inexperienced, Plo found out quickly, and though gentle with the softer tissue Wolffe seemed to know just how to press and stroke and pull.

Plo felt himself come apart, shaking and bucking into that hand, holding Wolffe there with perhaps too tight a grip on his forearm. His commander never complained, not once, and a secondary glance even proved the commander to be enjoying himself reluctantly.

Plo came dry again as Wolffe put it, the swelling only increasing slightly. Later he’d use this to fertilize the eggs that weren’t there. He wondered if Wolffe would find it strange. Wolffe didn’t stop though, hand trailing through the shafts, brushing soft inner-slit skin that Plo wasn’t sure could feel good before that point, and finding that pocket.

The pouch was made of that softer skin, semi-permeable to provide all the eggs would need. Despite their hard shells, the small ridges on the egg left enough surface area for a Kel Dor to supply extra nutrients to the growing hatchling. It wasn’t required, but highly suggested in the same way prenatal vitamins were given to many species. Kel Dor saved infertile eggs from before for this, but now had even better supplements.

Wolffe hesitantly explored the oozing hole with a finger, finding it slipped inside easily. He also found that unlike females of other species, it just kept going. “Sir, how many eggs did you say we needed?” Wolffe was certain the four he hosted wasn’t going to be near enough if Plo needed to be filled, at least judging by how far his finger went.

“Eight to be safe?” Plo suggested weakly, pushing into his touch. It was curious, and Plo didn’t try to rush him lest he spook him off. “They will not grow any. Oh…” He broke off into a crooning sound, Wolffe finding a ‘hotspot’ designed to keep a host sated during the laying process. Squirming led to broken eggs. He could not tighten or anything around Wolffe’s finger, though some muscular movement clearly was turning the gears in Wolffe’s head. “What are you thinking, Commander?”

“I’m thinking, sir, that you have about the best anatomy I’ve seen to date.” And sexual or nonsexual encounters, he’d seen a lot. Wolffe teased that spot before going on to add another finger, and Plo tensed up ridged. That was what he needed, not pleasure but fullness. Pressure. He ‘came’ again, and this time the heat in his flesh subsided if only slightly.

Wolffe was there when the world stopped spinning, wiping his hand on a cloth he carried around with him and watching Plo with concern. “You have it bad sir. I’ll get Boost on this asap. I’ll be back in no time at all. Stay and try not to ruin your other pillow.” A prod at his situation but Plo found it amusing.

“I will not soak my other pillow, Wolffe. Though we may have to order another.” Wolffe nodded so seriously it provoked a chuckle. “Please hurry, Commander.”

“I will, sir.” And with that Wolffe jumped up into the vents and headed out to call in Boost for assistance. Plo attempted to rest, knowing well that hosting was no easy task. Even if they were fake, plastic-ceramic eggs.

 

Wolffe found the eggs looked identical save the color. White, like his armor years ago. He rushed down the hall with a backpack, juice and fruit pulp as well as ten white spheres. To anyone else they’d look like grenades at first glance, and nobody questioned him tending the general with fruit products. By the time he reached the door, opened, and relocked all the stages, Plo was writhing in his bed again.

“I’m here sir. I’ve got them.” Plo perked up, a sort of hazy primal need in all his movements as he reached for Wolffe. “One second sir. You drink this, and I’ll be done by the time you’re done.” He handed the reaching hands a juice pouch, and with an angry click the feisty Kel Dor drank as ordered.

Wolffe stripped naked in record time, intending not to get himself soaked in Kel Dor bodily fluids again. Seeing his naked body, Plo abandoned the empty juice pouch and reached for him, clicking and whistling and doing that little thing with exposed tusks that Wolffe couldn’t call anything but cute.

“I know, General. Here.” He gently spilled the eggs onto the bed, ten white orbs. Plo clicked and instantly swept them all against his abdomen, then pulled Wolffe close to his body. Wolffe gasped, the positioning he settled in on his side facing the General perfect for his semi-hard shaft to butt up into the mess of Plo’s. Heat, wet, it was all too familiar; he needed more, but set his need aside for his General as he always did.

Taking one egg in his hand, he carefully pushed Plo’s hand around it and let him feel. The machine got the tiny texturing correct as well, and that seemed to drive Plo wild. Tugging at Wolffe, he insistently moved his hand to that pouch opening without hesitation. Wolffe wondered in what strange heaven he was in, sliding the egg through the fluid built around Plo’s slit. Plo shook with anticipation, gripping Wolffe at arm’s length so they could both see what was going on down there. Wolffe found the opening, and thoroughly coated, pushed with his fingertips gently.

The Kel Dor keened and tossed his head back, panting raggedly as he finally found himself sated by the stretch of one egg. It wasn’t exactly easy, but Wolffe fit it inside, and used a finger to nudge it further in to make room for the next.

“Are you alright sir?” Wolffe seemed concerned, the fit tight but Plo seemed more than content, babbling softly in his native tongue. A taboo for his people. Wolffe loved it. He selected another egg, pushing it through the lubricant as well before pressing it inside as well. There was an intimacy not seen in his life before now with this, a trust that went unspoken despite the whole debauchery of the entire situation. Wolffe considered himself something close to his general despite his lowly status and chose now to bask in that affection as he, for once, pleased his general by choice rather than need. Plo could do this himself, he was critically aware.

“Feels good, General?” Plo came back to him for a moment, nodding once as the second toy popped inside and a muscular motion pushed it down into the pouch. Wolffe watched in wonder. “You never cease to surprise me, sir.” His words were punctuated by the third egg, then a fourth.

Plo’s pouch seemed to expand, and Wolffe had to pause and feel around the soft tissue to make sure he wasn’t straining. Plo saw stars, tensing up with the soft prodding and stopped Wolffe. “T-Too much.”

“Sorry sir.” Wolffe backed off instantly and presented the fifth egg. He could faintly hear it fit somewhere deeper inside the general along it’s identical partners. “Is that enough, sir?” The swelling shape made him worry. His body should NOT do that, but maybe Plo was different?

Plo tugged, a clear sign to keep going. His breaths came in gasps. “More, Commander. It’s normal.” He put the worries aside, and Wolffe then decided to keep going until Plo was sated, or they ran out of eggs.

The eighth egg was not the ceiling, but the ninth. He pressed the last one against Plo, but the pocket itself rejected it, tensing up as it would to block any kind of unwanted intruder. Wolffe took it away, setting it to the side, and pulled Plo onto his bare lap. His general had a swell under that genital slit, the pouch running the length of it and now full of eggs he felt better. At least he felt coherent.

“How many, Commander?”

“Nine sir. We made ten to be sure.”

“I see.” The previously inert shafts were twitching and moving again, the swollen things looking for that pocket entrance to self-inseminate the false eggs. Wolffe reached down to stroke one, a fond curiosity that he doubted would ever leave their strange relationship.

“Does it feel good, sir?”

“It feels… Primally satisfying, Commander. Thank you.”

“All due respect, but I don’t think you’re done, sir. Those are not supposed to be that hard if memory serves.” And it did. Wolffe went to stroke one. “Don’t leave a job unfinished, sir.”

Plo gasped as that strong hand curled around them all, all four shafts, and stroked them as one. “C-Commander! A-Ah, Spirits help me…” He panted, trying to curl them toward the pocket. “Help me get them in there, Wolffe, please...”

“In the pouch sir?” There was a hard swallow; Wolffe had heard some brothers could suck themselves off. That was where he placed that, and it went straight to his cock. It shouldn’t, but it did. Plo noticed, nodding urgently.

Wolffe delivered, carefully assisting the swollen organs to the pocket one at a time. It could stretch, that was for certain, and from his angle Wolffe got a distant glimpse of a white eggshell coated in clear lubricant. He bit a lip, understanding that ‘primal satisfaction’ Plo mentioned now. His shaft twitched.

Plo was long gone again, busy twitching himself inside that pouch and attempting to bring himself to a climax. Out of practice, for certain, but Wolffe’s hand returned and ran his fingers up and down the sides of the slit, drawing pleasure out of places nobody would dare touch. It was enough, and Plo shivered violently as the built-up semen spilled into the pocket, filling whatever room was left between and around the toys.

Plo passed out, Wolffe found, when he experienced a ‘mind blowing orgasm.’ When Plo came to, Wolffe was staring at him with that worried eye, and provoked Plo to pat his cheek.

“I am alright.”

Wolffe relaxed and gave his General a hug before moving away. Plo stopped him.

“You are not. As you told me, that is not supposed to be swollen that way.” Wolffe glanced down, erection only not entirely upright due to weight. Plo stared at him challengingly, daring Wolffe to say he could take care of it himself.

Wolffe sat down and Plo, with all his surprises, swung a leg over his commander and pressed the spent shafts against him. They coiled around, the recent action leaving them much easier to command. Plo made a pocket for his Wolffe, and ‘smiled’ as Wolffe cried out that explicative of his.

“Fuck! Ah, G-General!” He gritted his teeth, entirely lax under Plo’s body.

Plo worried once that Wolffe would feel trapped, but knowing his brothers’ talk, he enjoyed being the powerless one for some time. It was Plo’s turn to repay a favor. “Yes, Wolffe? I think you need attention too.” Teasing, coy, coming with a ‘smirk’ that radiated in his very bones. Wolffe knew he was dead, his dear General letting his hips rut up through those shafts.

“Gods, sir…” He replied.

“You’re far from dead, my Commander.” Plo eyed the egg left over and reached for it. It fit nicely in his palm, claws curving around it. He shivered as he felt the ones in his pouch shift, recalling that they would draw out pleasure for many days to come. He’d have to mediate often… “It’s a shame this one has to remain.”

Wolffe stopped breathing. “Sir!” He demanded, squirming under Plo’s weight. “Sir!”

Hot and bothered. Wolffe was worked up to the point the head of his cock was that pretty red color, and Plo couldn’t resist touching. Wolffe moaned, biting his lip so he stifled himself.

“I think we should find it residence. Preferably inside you, Wolffe.” The most ornate dirty talk Wolffe ever heard, but as Plo got up, Wolffe folded his arms behind his back, wrist over wrist, and stuck his ass in the air.

Plo got a handful of cheek, finding that unlike the first time they’d done this, Wolffe was not prepared. Hm. Setting the egg aside, Plo moaned as he pushed his shafts against Wolffe, slicking his entrance thoroughly and prodding one tendril inside. He went right for Wolffe’s prostate, and Wolffe came instantly on the already-messy bed.

“G-General…” He moaned, ass clenching tight as more tendrils slipped inside, just two at first. It stretched, burned, but he loved it. “More…” Wolffe hadn’t realized what all that did to him, seeing his General come so undone.

“I’ve more.” Plo replied simply, offering the other two in rapid fire. Plo couldn’t come again, but he knew Wolffe could. Stamina of a soldier.

Plo waited until Wolffe was squirming to reach for the egg. Lots of lubricants left over, he slicked it up as Wolffe had, and pushed it against his rear. So tight, but he had an idea that Wolffe loved being full. His cock strained hard as the egg touched him, and he reached to pull his buttcheeks apart, offering himself. How could Plo refuse? With some gentle twisting against the entrance, and sliding two shafts out to make space, Plo pushed the sphere inside his commander and rumbled softly with the pleasure. Plo relished being this close with his commander. Unlike the other eggs, this one could be there as long as he wished.

Wolffe was silent, shaking not unlike Plo moments ago. So big… “So big, sir…” He whispered, feeling the shafts push back inside. And push that hard toy right up to his prostate. His turn to see stars, and he keened, but the pressure relented none at all. “Sir!” It was a shout, but nothing to make Plo stop. Plo heard on whispers Wolffe didn’t like to stop until he was whimpering.

“Take what you need of me, Commander. You’ve given so much of yourself today, it is only fair payment.”

“All for you, sir.” Rushed but the words were out. He did everything for Plo, and he loved doing it all.

Wolffe came again abruptly, the soft whimpering starting up shortly after and Plo withdrew himself. He cuddled Wolffe close, trying not to croon as he pressed his side along that egg-filled pouch. “Feel better?”

“My line, sir.” He muttered, yawning with a nod. “Yes, sir. Do you?”

“Indeed. This was one of your better ideas.”

“Sir, the egg is still in my ass.”

“I intend to let you keep it as long as you would like, Wolffe. Perhaps you can surprise those brothers of yours later.” Wolffe went silent, then nodded and pulled Plo close.

“They’d like that. Knowing Boost, he’s going to put a vibrator in one.” Plo’s head tilted curiously and Wolffe grinned lazily. “Another day, General, I’ll show you what those are. They’re very good toys.”

“I think I like toys.” He paused, then chuckled. “If my clan knew… I may be shunned.” But they wouldn’t. This was for him and Wolffe. Maybe Boost and Sinker, who seemed to fully support them. “Do your other partners feel any jealousy?”

“Jealousy? Yes. They’re curious of you, sir. But not jealous of you with me.” Wolffe watched the red color start up again and he laughed before snuggling his general. He was delirious with that hard climax and basked in it.

Silence overtook them, a quiet word here and there, but they shared their time and warmth. Bonding, troopers often called sex, and Wolffe wondered if Plo would call it that. Whatever the case, he was happy to service his general, and Plo was happy to service his Commander. No matter what the oddity implied.


End file.
